


Providence

by Wedge_Antilles



Category: Vermintide, Warhammer Fantasy, warhammer the end times
Genre: Gen, Swearing, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Torture, Vulnerability, blood sweat and more blood, hurting the bean, it's kinda nasty, seriously, skaven bastards, vulnerable Saltzpyre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-26 13:16:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13858533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wedge_Antilles/pseuds/Wedge_Antilles
Summary: Hell-bent on wiping out the five mysterious heroes that seem to thwart their plans every time without fail, the Skaven turn their attention to discovering their identities through any means possible. Unfortunately for Saltzpyre, he becomes separated from the team and is little more than a sitting duck for the Skaven's scheme.





	1. Solitude

"Come on, Saltzpyre. We need to move on." Kruber called across the courtyard from where he waited patiently for the Witch Hunter and the others to finish at the well where they had stopped for a quick drink. Unlike the others, Saltzpyre was taking a bit longer to collect the water into the bottle that was so kindly provided by Lohner after the 'misplacement' of his own. So long, in fact, that the Elf let out a loud huff and turned on her heels to continue down the cobbled road they were following. The Sargent glanced back at his companions and noticed that they were _all_ carrying on without them.

Not wanting to leave the Hunter behind, yet also not wanting to lose the others amongst the maze of streets in the city, Kruber reluctantly pushed himself off of the wall he leant up against and followed behind Sienna, glancing back at Saltzpyre over his shoulder to see if he had finally finished prattling about with the bloody well.

 

"Blasted thing." Victor growled under his breath at the practically useless bottle he now struggled with to screw the cap on, hooking it to his belt once he had. It didn't take long for him to notice that he stood alone in the courtyard, nothing but the faint sound of gunfire to fill his ears, as well as the gentle rustle of the few bushes that'd survived the fires that still burned in the city.

 "I best not be alone... nor talk to myself!" Saltzpyre raised his voice in the still air, hoping that _one of them_ would answer him. He was sure it wouldn't take long for him to catch up, some running was in order, but he would soon be with his companions again. It rested on one thing - that there were no Gutter Runners or Hook Rats prowling the area. They did like to find their prey isolated from those who could get in their way. He put his pistols into their holsters and began jogging down the street, slowly increasing his pace into a run. They only seemed to get further and further from him no matter how fast the tread he kept was. It was a shame that he had given the speed potion he found to the dwarf. It would have come in handy at this point for him, but there was no point thinking about it. He didn't have the potion and that was it, no two ways about it. He would simply have to run _faster._

 

"I think we aught to go back for him."

Sienna turned to look back over her shoulder as the Sargent spoke.

"Aye, I think you're right, Azumgi." Bardin agreed, his own body turning slightly as he looked back past Sienna and Kruber to see if there were any signs of the Witch Hunter being in tow.

"We can't go back," Kerillian called back from the front of the line, "but we can wait. Not for long, though. We need to get to that Tavern before the rats do."

As she spoke, they all stopped and found somewhere to perch in wait. This was a fine chance to sort out their weapons and such, and they gladly took advantage of it. While she stood with her hand outstretched, steam lifting from her palm and whisping into the air, Kerillian moved over to Sienna and took out the mad pack she had tucked away. The Wizard looked fairly beaten up, so it was a perfect time to patch her up.

Before the Pyromancer could give her thanks to the Elf, all noises were hushed by the Sargent who had got to his feet in the blink of an eye and stood frowning.

He hoped, by Taal, how he hoped, that the noise he had heard was the sound of Sienna's magic, but at the command to be quiet she had lowered her hands to her side, and yet the noise continued.

"Gas rat." It was spoken under his breath, as if hearing it's name would cause it to appear.

 

"Look out, gas attack!" That was Kruber's voice, no doubt about it.

Saltzpyre's head jolted up, averting his gaze from the floor where he was watching his footing on the slippery cobbles, to the rooves of the buildings that surrounded him. His eyes searched madly for the Skaven's glowing green mist, pistol drawn and ready to fire as soon as he spotted it.

He carried on, slower now, down the road, still watching the skies until he heard the distinct sounds of battle up ahead. Remnants of a green mist surrounded the four that fought furiously, an obvious sign that the gas rat had already deployed some of it's lethal substance into the air.

Eyes landed on the Witch Hunter for a split second, the Waywatcher's hard stare guaging Saltzpyre's return. There seemed to be a moments joy in those dark eyes of hers, until the sight was shrouded once again by the fog, hiding Victor's image behind it.

"The Witch Hunter!" Kerillian yelled, pointing towards the gas cloud with the tip of her dagger.

 

On the other side, Saltzpyre held his arm firmly over his nose and mouth, stepping back futher from the green cloud every second. That was until something sharp found it's way around his throat.

It tugged him away, making his legs slip from underneath him. If it wasn't for the contraption that gripped around his neck, he would'v fallen straight onto the floor, but the Skaven that held the poll was  _not_ letting him go.

He tried to yell, but so little came out of his mouth that is hardly resembled the plea for help that it was intended to be, and so he was dragged down the road that he'd sprinted down not long before, the distorted sight of gas slowly merging into the surroundings.

No - not just the gas - everything started to blur into one another as oxygen was denied entry into his struggling lungs, and soon everything vanished into black and purple patches that spread over his vision.

 

Finally the gas cloud had cleared and the remaining Skaven stragglers had been delt with, allowing the others passage to where Kerillian had spotted Saltzpyre earlier. They all rushed over, but there was nothing. Kruber and Bardin looked down the dead-ended alleys that lead from each side, but there was not a single sign that anything had occurred there. Even furthur up the road held no clues on what had happened to the Witch Hunter.

"Are you  _sure_ you saw him, Wutelgi?" Bardin looked up to Kerillian. He was ready for her harsh retaliation, but there was more confusion in her voice than anger.

"Of course I'm sure. The beast men's gas doesn't cause hallucinations, the last time I checked." If it wasn't him, then where was their Witch Hunter? He would've caught up by now, surely? Her eyes narrowed in thought, running the memory past herself. She was right, it was definitely him that she saw... so what had happened?

"I'v got some bad news." Sienna, while the others had been talking and trying to figure something out, had wandered away from them towards something that caught her eye. Not exactly out of place amongst all of the chaos around the city, yet something equally disturbing. A skull. And not a usual skull, either. Grating patters were carved into the top, vibrant blue chalk filling in the dips... the same kind of design Skaven would use to decorate the skulls their Packmasters wore around their torsos as a warning. But there was something odd. Something different about this attack.

Usually the Packmasters would hang up their victims to fight for their lives against their polearm, but had that been the case, they would have found Saltzpyre in such a situation... he hadn't been the target of a killing - he had been taken, surely. That was the only plausible explanation they could think of at that moment, an undesired one, but something nonetheless.

There was silence between them, only broken by the Sargent who spoke what they all had on their minds.

"We need to tell Lohner."

If there was anyone with the contacts that would help find something - anything - to do with this sudden change in behaviour from the Skaven and hopefully return their Hunter, it was the Inn keeper. He'd find out what they were up to, and if he did it fast enough, then they might even get Saltzpyre back in one piece.

 


	2. Diminuendo

It was stuffier than usual in the Red Moon. Lohner blamed the fire, since it had been burning from the wee hours in the morning until - Oh, he assumed it was rather late by the return of the inn's current inhabitants. The old man straightened up from behind the bar, setting the flagons he was busy organising to the side. It sounds like a rather trivial task compared to what the others did, but he had to do something to keep his mind busy while they were away, otherwise it would be filled instead with speculations on what was happening. Those thoughts would dissipate as soon as he heard the inn door open, but this time the smile came too early. Fading back into a frown, Lohner realised the Hunter was missing.

The room hushed as the four trudged inside, all looking more exhausted than usual, if that was possible. Before he spoke to them he allowed time for them to drop the weapons that weighed down on them and take a moment just to breathe.

After some time, Lohner finally spoke.

"What happened?" he drifted the question towards them, hoping that one of them would fill him in on just _how_ they had lost Saltzpyre.

"We don't know, but we're quite certain the rats have taken him. We just don't know where." Sienna replied.

Not the best news, but the Inn Keeper sighed in relief regardless. They may have technically lost the Hunter, but not in the way he had thought.

"Well then..." There was a pause while Lohner stepped around the bar and took a seat at the map table. Sienna, who was leant against one of the beams, watched him think. She wondered how he was going to sort this one out, and what contacts he would use to get the information this time. If they had to call on that damned Grey Wizard again she wouldn't be best impressed. They had all had enough of him, and Lohner couldn't really blame them. He was as difficult to talk to as he was a coward.

There was silence among them for an uncomfortably long time and they could all see the trouble the Inn Keeper was having coming up with something. Kruber let out a drawn out sign and turned away from them all to lean over the counter and produce six flagons from behind it, only to slowly return one to where it had previously sat. They thumped down onto the table, making the others look up and then to the Sargent, who again had his back to them, this time reaching for the pail of water they would fill from the well every morning. He was about to pour the water into each of the cups when a hand gently took the bucket from his and placed it aside.

"I think this calls for something stronger than water, Sargent." Kerillian mumbled as she urged him to sit. She wasn't much of a fan of Mayfly drinks, but alcohol is alcohol, and she, as well as the others, needed something strong. Once Kruber had sat down, Bardin took the flagons one by one to fill with ale. Lohner didn't seem to mind having the dwarf behind the counter, not that he could see anything of him except the tips of the horns from the dwarfen helmet. He had more things to worry about, and without even looking up from the detailed map of known Skaven camps, he clutched the flagon that was pushed towards him and took a long drawn out swig from it. The others did the same.

They wouldn't care to admit, but they  _were_ worried. Saltzpyre was strong, but even he had his limits. Would he be able to withstand Skaven torture if that's what they decided to do with him? What would happen if he accidently revealed some vital information? What if he was to be the base of some sick ritual that they'd seen time and time again? The Elf had her doubts, which she would later share with the Witch as they sat around the fire in thought, once the others had retired to their rooms. Of course, they wouldn't be sleeping. No, a sudden wave of doubt rushed over the Inn that night.

They were a strong team, and one of the smallest within the resistance against the beastmen, but Victor was a valued member, and even if they could carry on, how long would it be until something came up where only the Witch Hunter would be useful? How long would they be able to last with one less hero? His knowledge on the Skaven was second to none...

Were the odds turning against them?

 

"D'nt get disheartened." The dull voice of the Inn Keeper pulled them from their thoughts, "We'll soon have our Hunter back."

 

The others could hear the uncertainty in his voice no matter how he tried to disguise it. Only time could tell if he was right or not.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Captive Audience

There was a numbness in his body. Saltzpyre couldn't feel or see anything, the only sense that had returned to him was his hearing, much to his dismay. The rhythmic clicking of Skaven claws sounded near his head, but he couldn't get up - he couldn't even open his eyes. As feeling returned in his hands, he tried to move them, but the sharp edges of the cuffs that kept them at bay dug into his skin. He suspected that they had drawn blood, and he was right. He could feel the odd drip of crimson trail down his hand, but it did little to worry him. He'd seen plenty of blood in his time, and he had more than enough staining his hands.

After what felt like hours of having to listen to the ratmen that prowled around him tear the flesh off of corpses and the cracking of the bones they tossed aside, the Witch Hunter finally regained his sight and was able to push himself up to sit. It was quite the unusual sight. He looked almost childlike sat with his hands fastened together in his lap, eyes that searched the surroundings madly tinted a dusty red, a vulnerability so rarely seen on the Hunter. There wasn't much he could see from the cell. Three of the walls were made of heavy stone, decaying slowly with help from the vines that crawled up them and tried to tear the ancient bricks from their foundation. The other was a barricade of rusting metal decorated with skulls and shreds of rotting flesh, a warning to those in the cell that their time was almost up. But not for Saltzpyre. He faced a gruelling set of trials before Morr would take pity on him.

He took this time to think, to remember his training. He wouldn't give the Skaven a word of information, and even if the urge to do so did eventually creep up on him, he knew what he would have to do. It was a disgusting technique, but one way or another he would hold his tongue until his dying breath.

There was a loud crashing sound from behind the wall, making the Skaven that had been chewing on the remnants of a guard scatter out of Saltzpyre's line of sight, only for two Stormvermin to take their place. They pulled the door open with a force that could've yanked it right off of it's hinges and struggled to get into the cell, grabbing hold of Saltzpyre's upper arms and forcing him to his feet. There was no point trying to fight against them - one Stormvermin was strong enough by themselves to rip someones head off, but with one on each side? They could easily pull you apart.

The Hunter reluctantly tried to keep up, if only for the sake of lessening the pain that shot through his arms with every tug on them. This was unlike the Skaven - unlike anything Saltzpyre had seen before. He knew where it was leading, though. He was hardly new to the customs that lead to torture.

 

"Ah, the man-thing arrives. We have much to speak about, yes-yes!" The voice grated through Saltzpyre's ears, making him instinctively tug against the two that held him, but it was no use. They dragged him over to a table - the shakles that were fixed onto it were stained with blood, both old and fresh. The cuffs that were already around Saltzpyre's wrists were removed, and the struggle of getting him down onto the table began.

They didn't have an easy time restraining the Hunter, but eventually he was secured down with little wiggle room. A burning sensation that made him wince shot down his arms and legs, spreading all over his body with a fiery sting. He was too busy trying to cope with the position to notice that the Stormvermin had been sent away so it was just him and the masked rat left in the room. The Hunter's eyes were fixed in the beastman, watching his every move. A lump formed in his throat as it picked up a gleeming tool that reflected the light from the moon above. 

"We get started now-now. Waste no time."

 

From across the courtyard where hoards of beastmen slept, screams cut into the air, but none stirred. Not once did a rat lift it's head at the cries of pain or the pleas to Sigmar. They'd heard it all before, and though this man-thing had taken longer to break, he was no different from the others.


	4. Dressing the Wounds

The screaming would cease, but somehow that sounded worse. The Witch Hunter slipped from consciousness and would awaken in his cell, only to be dragged out again and for the whole ordeal to start from the beginning. The gleeming knives, the jagged nails - they wanted him awake to feel these tear through his skin and gouge into the muscle. They smiled that disgusting, rotten-toothed grin as they watched the Hunter try desperately to keep his cries in his throat and struggled to keep his body still, they enjoyed every second of it.

Once more his frame slammed down onto the icy cobbles, though this time he was concious enough to feel his ribs scream out in agony. His breathing was shallow and sharp as he pushed himself off of the floor with shaking arms, desperate to get himself upright.

A groan sounded into the cramped cell once he had managed to sit up, the sight of his bloodstained tunic causing his lips to turn in a weak grimace. These bastards knew how to make someone hurt, but keep them alive for... Saltzpyre wouldn't be surprised if it was weeks. He'd seen it done before by his own.

Among the patches of drying blood there was a mark of fresh crimson soaking into the weave. He didn't quite know when he had taken his coat off, or his overshirt, but both laid in the corner of the cell in untidy piles, which he reached over to, pulling the belt from his long coat and gripping it tightly.

He pulled up his shirt to reveal the scrapes and cuts that riddled his stomach and carried on up to his chest, however all the wounds there had formed their ugly scabs, still slightly damp to the touch, but not enough to cause the patch that had soaked into the shirt. It wasn't until he covered his thin frame again that he noticed the blood dripping from his hand. For a while he just stared at it, watching the blood drip into the crevices and follow them until they dropped off the side and onto his undershirt. He couldn't remember getting it, but there was a lot he couldn't remember about the past twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours... that's all it had been since he had first woken up in the damp cell, but it felt like so much longer. He had made sure to keep an eye on the moon's placement in the sky through the gaps in the wall that allowed him some light from it, and did the same with the sun. He needes to keep track of the days, to know how long he had been held by these beasts without rescue.

"Curse this body of weak flesh." His voice was hoarse when he spoke, the strain of his screams taking its toll on it. The shirt he had tossed aside earlier was now full of holes from Skaven instruments, giving him the starting point he needed to tear the fabric apart. He laced his fingers into one of the holes and pulled it with all the strength he could muster without his vision becoming distorted with patches of green and blue, the sound of the stitches pulling apart giving him a moments joy. He folded the piece and pushed it against the wound in his hand, placing the belt from his coat over it.

It was a struggle trying to wrap the belt around the wound, having only the use of one hand, but after managing to tighten the hold of it with the buckle it was a lot easier. He wound the rest of the belt around his wrist, leading down from the makeshift bandage almost to his elbow.

A sigh passed his lips after the ordeal was done, and he laid his head back to lean against the wall. His mind wandered as he closed his eyes.

He remembered his first time hearing of such a situation - what he was to do if he was captured. The Order had given detailed instructions to them for what they were expected to carry out if they ever found themselves in the hands of the enemy. But to bite though ones own tongue? Saltzpyre had considered it at times, laid out on that table, but he wouldn't do it. The others were surely looking for him. They would get to him before the need for such action arose.

 

Surely?


End file.
